Time Is Just Passing Through
by Jerrath92
Summary: He could stand aside for it or confront it and demand something of it, demand his life and all that he loves back. Time was not kind, or merciful before and now it's only running shorter...shorter...shorter...out. M for lang, gore, violence. Please review, please!
1. Chapter 1: Hypocrite

**Dale, my dear friend, the Walking Dead will never be the same without you. My heart shattered within me and a piece of me died when you did. In light of Dale Horvath's untimely, unfair, and unwanted death on March 4****th****, I decided to make another fiction about him in addition to the one I already made entitled "Interference: Curse and Blessing". Dale was the heart and soul of the series in my opinion and I confess now that I did yell at my television when I saw the heart-wrenching scene (big thanks to Jeffrey DeMunn for a wonderful performance).**

Time.

He had just spent the better part of five minutes explaining how it had simultaneously had so much and so little meaning to him. _Not that you may remember it, but that you may learn to forget it and not waste all your breath trying to conquer it._ It was a precious thing, something some individuals had been given too much of as they were forced to linger on in a world now claimed by the dead or too little for those who were fortunate enough to pass on before the shadow fell upon all living things. _Not that you may remember_…to try and _not_ remember those things that were so precious, to try and _not_ recall anything that reminded him of his former life and all he had lost…_but that you may learn to forget it_…it was easy to forget the time of day, the day of the week, the month, but in doing so time became such an evil thing…_and not waste all your breath trying to conquer it_. What a hypocrite he was.

He was out of time now to save her, out of time just when he needed it most. Irma had run short of time and he made a vow to never take advantage of it again, yet reality stared him in the face in the form of a pale, blood-stained, dead girl in the arms of her older sister. Andrea cradled Amy's head in her lap, motionless as her sister, almost alike in expression. The look on Andrea's face was—dead. She had given up. Her last hope had died with the girl at her feet. Nothing he could say would revive her and he wasn't about to wrench her from her last moments with her only living family. Had he not also stared in subdued silence for hours at his wife's pallidcomplexion, willing her to return to him? He had responded to no one, wanted no one to disturb him and Andrea had that right as well.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said softly, speaking to both sisters. Bending forward, he kissed Amy tenderly on the forehead and then with a gentle pat to Andrea's shoulder, stood up on wobbly legs. His arthritis was catching up to him, something Irma had warned him to get taken care of for ages but he had run short of time once again. He trudged over to where Carol Peletier sat, hugging herself and drying away the last of the tears spent for her recently deceased husband Ed. He too had been a victim of the walker attack the night before. So few of them remained now, though with a shiver Dale realized that if Rick Grimes and the other three hadn't run in at the exact time that they did, there might not be any of them left at all.

"Water?" he asked, holding out a canteen to Carol who accepted it shyly. Dale sank onto the twin seat they had scavenged from a broken down car and put his hand on her arm, lowering his voice so that those who were walking around carrying walker and camper bodies wouldn't hear. "If there's anything you need, you just tell me, okay? Anything at all."

Carol gave an appreciative smile and took a swig from the canteen.

Jim and Daryl Dixon walked past lugging a female walker's body between them. Each of them had someone else's blood on them, but Jim had managed to get some on his face as well. Dale waited for him to pass by again and calling out to him, tossed a towel into his hands. "Wipe your face off, Jim."

With a begrudging look, Jim made a rather hasty job of mopping up his face and then threw the towel back onto Dale's lap before stalking off to grab another body. T-Dog and Glenn were adding more tinder to the smoldering pile of bodies while Rick and Shane Walsh continued to incapacitate all of the campers who had been bitten. Lori was keeping the children away from the site, but Jacqui had seen fit to pitch in and help. That made up the survivors.

Daryl hadn't said much, but Dale found out that his brother Merle had severed off his hand to escape the rooftop and now no one had the slightest idea where he was. Dale had a nasty feeling that all they needed now was for Merle Dixon to appear one-handed and pissed off while they were piling unknown bodies and burying their dead.

_Merle didn't have enough time either,_ said a nagging voice in the depths of his brain, but the voice of reason came forth and pointed out, _You keep thinking like that and you'll regret it. Focus, Dale, for Andrea, you _have_ to focus._

Dale wiped the back of his arm across his forehead, looking at the blood on his pants without really seeing it…

Carol poked his leg repeatedly. He followed her gaze to where Andrea was kneeling upright, holding Amy who was—good Lord, she was _sitting up_. Dale leapt to his feet, swinging his rifle around to a ready position. He saw Amy fumbling at Andrea's shirt with mouth gaping and eyes concentrating in a very dead-like way on Andrea's face. An inhumane snarl escaped the younger one's lips and yet Andrea continued to hug her, to hold her and whisper words to her. Dale took two steps forward. He didn't want to call out to Andrea in case his voice distracted her and she looked away only to have Amy bite her, but he had to _do_ something. Andrea was just _sitting _there…sitting!

_Stop it, Andrea. You can't do that; let go of her and run—or shoot._

"Rick!" Carol shouted.

Movement around Dale ceased. He was closest to Andrea, yet still too far away to be of any use to her. He began walking, jogging, running, as the walker that had taken Amy's place bared its teeth and pulled at Andrea to sink its teeth into the flesh on her neck.

"Andrea!" he cried, raising his rifle into firing position. He saw Andrea lift her Ladysmith, place it to the walker's temple, and at last she fired, letting what remained of her sister drop down onto the gravel. Andrea released her pistol, put her arms around her waist and began choking on her own sobs. A steady line of saliva fell from her cracked lips and tears dripped freely from her eyes. Dale came down onto one knee, ignoring the throbbing pain in his legs, and wrapped one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders.

"Come on," he urged gently. "Come here, Andrea."

Andrea turned into him and threw herself against his chest, weeping and clutching at his shirt in desperation, wanting something to hold, to feel the warmth of, to know that someone was still alive. Dale held her, running his hand up and down her back as he let her spill all of her sorrow onto his blood-stained shirt.

She cried herself to sleep that night. He didn't think it was a good idea for her to go to sleep in the tent she had shared with Amy and so Jim had given up his bed in the Winnebago to allow Andrea to sleep in there. Dale kept watch over her as he sat perched on the edge of his own bed across from her with his forearms resting on his knees and his hands clasped. The moonlight streamed in from the venetian blinds and showed a distorted picture of her face, scrunched up in pain and fatigue.

The anguish on her face as she had laid her sister to rest in the roughly dug graves was something that Dale would not soon forget. She truly had given up now and what was there that he could do to help her? What did he have to give her so that she could find the strength to go on? He had words.

Some help he was.


	2. Chapter 2: Forms of Grieving

It wasn't that Dale mistrusted anyone, but he prided himself on being able to read people relatively well and when he read Andrea the day before, he could see that company was the last thing she wanted so he had requested that unless someone was two seconds shy of wetting their pants that they should stay clear of the RV so that Andrea could have some time alone. He took it upon himself to stand guard atop of his beloved Winnebago, though at this point the task was getting monotonous not to mention pointless after the walker attack. They all felt equal blame for that incident; no one had been on watch so that they all could attend the fish-fry. It was an easy mistake to make, but not one to forgive. Carol would never forgive and neither would Andrea. Dale only hoped that Andrea didn't blame _him_.

"Dale, may I go in?"

Leaning over, Dale looked down to where Lori was standing with her outer wrists resting on her hips as she tapped her foot in obvious irritation at the rule he had enforced. "This is ridiculous, you know. Carol and Sophia have to go too but they're too embarrassed to ask. I want to use the restroom _right now_."

"Just don't-," began Dale, but Lori cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand.

"I can talk to her if I want to, but I'm not going to force her to do anything she doesn't want to. She might want to talk with another female, which you are not, no matter how hard you try to be when you coddle her."

Dale didn't understand where her anger was coming from, but he felt the need to speak out against it. "Excuse me, have I done something wrong?" he asked in puzzlement. "And the last time I looked, I wasn't _coddling_ her."

"She needs to be out in the open, not closed away. She feels like her life's bearing down on her and trapping her and you're not helping by keeping her cooped inside."

"I'm not keeping her there, she happens to be sleeping," Dale argued.

"Is she? At this time of day?"

Dale glanced at his watch, something he had managed to avoid up to this point because _time_ felt like some damn insult now. His stomach jerked in a slightly guilty fashion as he saw that it was almost three in the afternoon. Clearing his throat, he corrected himself. "Okay, maybe she isn't sleeping still, but she could just be sitting there thinking."

"She can do that out here where there are people to keep an eye on her," said Lori firmly. "I'm officially reopening the Winnebago for business." She reached out to open the door when Dale saw Andrea's pale blonde head appear and she raised an arm to shield her face from the striking late afternoon sunlight. Lori immediately dropped her former coolness and patted Andrea's shoulder comfortingly. "Hey," she said kindly, "can I get you anything?"

"Where's Dale?" asked Andrea.

Not looking at all pleased with Andrea's number one priority, Lori nodded her head at the top of the Winnebago. Andrea pivoted around to face him and he saw that her eyes were rather bloodshot and that there were dark bluish-purple bags forming underneath them, giving her beautiful face a very hollow and dead look. Her hair was mussed, sticking out at odd angles and she did not look similar to the woman he had grown accustomed to seeing every day.

"Dale," she said in an emotionless voice.

"Yeah?"

"Where'd you put my gun?"

This was not the answer he had been expecting. He thought she would have something important to tell him, some words of closure for her sister. He reached over onto his seat and held up her Ladysmith.

"It's right here."

Andrea mounted the ladder and climbed up a few steps, holding her hand out for her weapon. Reluctant though he was to hand it over, Dale placed it in her palm. He didn't blame her for wanting security after the attack on the camp. She took it passively and tucked it into the back of her belt, pulling her shirt down over it. Without another word she stalked past Lori towards the road leading up around to the gravesite. Dale knew where she was bound and he hung his head, ashamed. He thought that she might spill out her grief to him, thought he could comfort her and help her to move on, but apparently an entire day spent inside the Winnebago did nothing to improve her feelings.

Lori gave Dale a scathing look as if blaming him for Andrea's destination and walked away to converse with Rick who was tearing down the now unoccupied tents of the recently deceased.

Settling back into his chair, Dale observed Daryl helping Jim add the Peltier tent to the still burning pile of walkers. It had to be disposed of since the walkers had splattered Ed's blood everywhere on the inside of it and—

He stopped thinking. Why would he even consider playing that image in his head? It was disgusting; _he_ was disgusting. He ran a hand under his nose and tried to shake the image out of his head, though Daryl didn't help the matter by swearing as he hefted a corner of the tent onto the fire and a thick coating of gooey red _innards_ spilt out, nearly drenching his shoes.

"Damn it, that shit's everywhere!" he shouted. "Stupid bastards made a complete mess for us to clean up."

"Can you try _not_ to keep up a running commentary of what you're doing, Daryl?" Dale called, feeling rather queasy.

Daryl took a step forward, pointing a gloved hand at him. "You can shove it up your ass, old man. All you've done all day's just sit on your ass twiddlin' your thumbs!"

"You want to come up here and take watch, be my guest. This rooftop reflects light back and bakes you so it's no party. I'll gladly switch places with you and I won't bitch for all the mountains to hear me."

"Y'know what?" Daryl started stomping in Dale's direction when Jim blocked his way and said in a tone of warning, "Cool it." Daryl tried to step around him, but despite Jim's height, he was quite fast as he once again moved to step in front of Daryl.

"Got something to say, pal?" Daryl challenged.

"I already did; won't say it again," said Jim dangerously.

Foreseeing a bad outcome, Dale called, "Let him come on over if he wants to, Jim. He has the strength to knock me out, but as of right now, I think I'm the one with the weapon." He saw the thought process in Daryl's eyes and continued, "I'm not looking for a fight, son, I'm just asking for you to tune the sound effects down a little."

"I'll second that," T-Dog added, adding more junk to the burn pile.

"Same here," said Shane, dabbing at his forehead with the corner of his shirt. "Morales and his family left yesterday morning, or didn't you notice? We don't need to decrease our numbers by any more. You settle down, Daryl. Now's not the time to be pickin' a fight."

Seeing that he was outmatched, Daryl threw up his arms and scoffed. "T'hell with all y'all." Dale shook his head to himself as he watched the younger man use a shovel to scoop the blood and guts up and toss them into the fire. The anger was just a spur-of-the-moment bit of nonsense, that was all. Daryl was grieving just like the rest of them in the way he knew best; being an asshole. Everyone mourned in their own way; some people like Daryl had to use masculine words and actions to try and mask the emotions that they considered to be a weakness, but others like Andrea and Carol could only sit and stare off into nothing, lost in their own realms of thought.

But Dale grieved by worrying, worrying about what was next to come and when it would come.


	3. Chapter 3: The Dirt Road

Night was coming. With it would come the relief of a cool night after a long day in the baking sun; but the darkness brought about a heightened sense of paranoia, especially after the attack on the camp. The tents had been brought in closer to the RV and another fire had been built at the center, but the survivors didn't gather in the same fashion that they had two nights ago. Their backs were turned outward to watch the woods and pray that the trees didn't yield more walkers.

Dale had seen Andrea hiking up to the gravesite through his binoculars and he watched her sit down somewhere on the hilltop, but since then he hadn't been able to catch any glimpse of her. He knew she was still up there, though doing what he didn't know and it was nothing short of torture for him to sit atop the RV and just _wait._ Finally, when he could take it no more, he used the oncoming darkness as a ready-made excuse to go after her.

"I'm going to take the Buick and go get Andrea," he announced to Rick as he climbed down the ladder. "Be back in a few minutes."

"You be careful out there," Rick warned. "Fire off two shots if you get into trouble."

Dale nodded, though doubted very much that he would need to waste any bullets calling for help. Their luck couldn't possibly get any worse, could it? Hadn't they had enough encounters with walkers for the time being? Forever? He drove faster than was wise on the narrow dirt road, but his quickening pulse urged him to get to the gravesite in a hurry. He tapped the accelerator a few times to get the Buick up the hill and when he pulled the car around and put it in park, he saw Andrea kneeling beside Amy's grave, patting the dirt evenly over the bit that lay above her head. She made no sign that she was aware of Dale's arrival and even when he approached her, she hardly moved a muscle.

"Andrea, it's almost dark out; you need to come back with me now."

As expected, he received no response from her, but the time for her silence to be his undoing was past. She couldn't stay out here alone, unguarded. He slid his fingers very carefully under her arm. "You can come back tomorrow, but right now I want you to stand up and come with me, okay? Let's go…" He credited the gentleness in his voice as the factor that made Andrea lean slightly against him for support and stand up. She dragged her feet through the dirt in no particular hurry and climbed into the passenger seat with one leg still hanging out. Dale took her leg by the calf and placed it beside her left one before shutting the door for her. The unresponsive manner in which Andrea was acting made him feel uneasy.

_She's still in shock; that's all_, he told himself, but somehow he figured that that couldn't be all. It was almost forty-eight hours since Amy's death; Andrea should have come to her senses by now. He drove over a bump and the car lurched forward. His reflexive right arm flew out across Andrea's chest and it was a good thing too, for she hadn't done anything to stop herself from moving with the Buick's motion. The fact that she didn't care to protect herself now had him thoroughly worried and he made an executive decision to talk to Rick and Shane about her behavior. She couldn't be allowed to return to the gravesite like he had promised her she could; there was no doubt in his mind that she was now mentally unstable and he wouldn't let her cause herself more harm by wasting her days away sitting over a grave. He cared for her too much to see her like this.

Andrea's forehead was leaning against the window and he could see her moonlit reflection with a tear clinging to her eyelash. Taking one hand off of the wheel he touched her shoulder. "Are you going to be all right?"

Andrea didn't respond.

"You can't dig a hole for yourself with this grief or you'll never be able to pull yourself out-,"

"Stop the car," said Andrea suddenly. Caught off guard by the harshness and urgency in her voice, Dale obliged instantly and was thrown for an even bigger loop when Andrea reached over and yanked the keys out of the ignition, shoving her door open and storming out in front of the Buick.

"Andrea, what are you doing?" Dale cried, sliding out of his own seat.

"Back off or I'll throw the keys away and good luck trying to find them in the dark," said Andrea, tucking her arm back like a pitcher. "I want to make something very clear to you, Dale. I will grieve for my sister for as long as I damn well please however the hell I want to and you are no one—_no one_ to try and take that away from me. You said yourself that you went into a state of depression when you lost your wife; this is my time to go through that stage and I think that I've earned that right. I watched her die and I held her. I shot her when she reanimated. I deserve to grieve and you will not get in the way of that. Do you understand?"

Dale gaped. "I'm just trying to _help_, Andrea. Tell me what I can do for you and I'll do it; I just don't want to see you get hurt even more."

"I'm going to get hurt and you can't stop that, Dale, but if you want to do something for me, just leave me the hell alone. Don't worry about me and go on living your own life; we'll both be happier if you do."

"Listen to yourself," Dale begged, taking an inconspicuous step forward. "Y-you're not in your right mind. You need help and I'm not the only one who sees it. The others—they care about you. Please, just stop this; give me the keys, get back in the car, and come with me."

"The others _care_?" Andrea repeated. "What do they know about me? What do _you_ know, Dale? No one here can claim to know the first thing about me, or Amy for that matter. I'm a complete stranger to you and all of them who claim to _care_ about me!"

"But we do," Dale insisted with another small step. "We're surviving together; that doesn't make us strangers."

"You call _this_ surviving?" Andrea spat. "Is Amy surviving? No, Amy is _dead_ and the only person who can fully understand that is me because I knew her. Now I'm the only one left and you all know even less about me than you did about my sister. What's my last name, Dale? How old am I? Where was I born? Where did I go to college?"

"I don't think those details are important," said Dale seriously. "I think that your actions and emotions define who you are."

"Oh, spare me your lectures," she snapped. "I'm Andrea Lennox, thirty-two years old, born in Altamonte Springs, Florida. I went to Massachusetts School of Law and graduated with a master's degree. That's who I am."

"No, it's not. It doesn't matter where you went to college now, does it? No one cares where you were born, or how old you are, or what your favorite drink at the coffee shop was, or any of that. We care that you, Andrea, are here now and still alive. This, right here," he motioned at all of her from head to toe, "_this_ is who you are, who we care about, so please, stop this." He held out his hand for the car keys as he stood now just feet away from her.

Andrea let her arm fall, beaten, and fresh tears rolled down her wasted cheeks.

Then something stumbled out onto the road. Dale saw the hobbled stride, the stooped posture and reaching forward, grabbed the Ladysmith straight out of Andrea's belt. He tucked an arm around her waist and pulled her out of the way as he raised his other arm with the pistol and fired. The shot went through the walker's head and Dale surprised himself at his accuracy. Andrea gasped in alarm and then pointed at another walker coming in from the right. Dale fired again and this time the bullet went through the second walker's jaw, but was nevertheless effective.

"There's more," said Andrea in horror.

The road was flooding with the undead all staggering towards the two humans alone on the dirt road.

"Get in the car," Dale told Andrea urgently. "Get in _now!_" He pushed her towards her open door and scrambled in through his own, slamming and locking the doors as Andrea shadowed him. They scooted together, back to back in the middle of the seat as the walkers closed in around the Buick, scraping rotten and overgrown fingernails on the faded white hood.

"Give me the keys," said Dale, but Andrea gave him a look of utter terror and he saw that her hands were empty. His throat constricted and his heart thumped insane patterns against his chest, but he slipped Andrea's pistol into her hands and took hold of his rifle, aiming outward at the walkers that were now clawing at the windows and well on their way to breaking in. He didn't know how many shots he had, or how many were left in Andrea's weapon, but he knew it wasn't enough, not by half. There were too many walkers to count and not nearly that many bullets to spare between them.

He felt Andrea twist her fingers into his hand and squeeze tightly. All he could do was squeeze back.


	4. Chapter 4: In the Last Moments

There was a crack forming at the center of the window and Dale leaned as far as he could against Andrea, clutching his rifle to his breast like it was the unborn child Irma had lost so many years ago. This was not happening, not so soon…and yet it was. He had had somewhere to run to when the walkers attacked the camp, but now—now he had made the stupidest decision possible to make by suggesting that they get back in the Buick. He and Andrea were going to die huddled inside this car like cowards trying to hold back a relentless swarm of the damned.

What had he _done_?

Glass shattered as the walkers made a hole in the middle of the window and one stuck its greenish-gray hand through, clawing at his shirt which was only inches away from the walker's fingertips. Dale gulped and utilized every ounce of his self-control to not lose his water all over the seat. His sweat was rank in the close quarters, dripping into his eyes, rolling off of his forehead, and trickling into his mouth and despite his immense fear, he still managed to feel utter shame that Andrea had to see him like this. He was already one of the weaker members of the group along with the children, but if he let all of his bodily functions flow freely in his last moments, Andrea's final memory of him would be one of disgust. In her eyes, it was important that he remain a strong, shielding figure; _that_ was what he wanted her to remember about him, what he wanted her to care about.

He let go of Andrea's hand and wrenched the glove compartment open. The smallest bit of luck was with him as his fingers found a kitchen knife that Ed Peletier must have placed in there for added security when he ordered Carol and Sophia to pack up. Behind him he could hear Andrea's window giving way.

"Climb into the back seat," he told her. "If I shoot out the windshield and climb through they'll follow me and it'll give you a few seconds to make a run for it. Get back to camp."

"You'll never make it," Andrea argued.

"That's not the point. Get in the back now before the window gives out. Here…" He pushed the knife into her left hand and closed her fingers around it. She spun around in her seat so that she was facing him.

"No. If you think that after Amy, after everything that this world has done to me that I'm going to let the last thing—someone like—I'm not leaving."

"Andrea please, don't make this any harder on me. I got you into this shithole; let me help you out. You'll only have one chance at this. Just-just keep the Winnebago running for as long as you can, all right?"

"Dale-,"

"I'll save a bullet for myself."

"_Dale_—,"

The air was pierced with the sound of tiny fragments of glass exploding and clinking against each other in an off-key melody as Dale's window gave out. He lurched backward and Andrea crawled into the seat behind the driver's. Kicking out, he pointed his rifle directly at one walker's nose and pulled the trigger. Another grabbed his shoe and his adrenaline kicked in, allowing him to wriggle free and scoot as far back as he possibly could while staying out of reach of the other window. Andrea fired off four rounds, each of them dead-center shots and she gained Dale some time to recuperate. Her left hand still held the knife but she was also trying to pull him into the back seat beside her so that the blade rubbed against his shirt.

"Come on, _come on_!" she shouted. "Get up, Dale! Get—up—damn—you!"

Dale felt himself being pulled from two ends as Andrea dropped the knife and seized his forearm at the same time that another walker took hold of his leg. He heard a blaring horn and thought wildly that one of the walkers had gotten in far enough to press down on it when he realized that not only was no walker even close to the horn, but that the Buick didn't make that sound. From his very poor vantage point he could see a floodlight hit the walkers and the one groping for his leg went down with a shot to its ear. A second later a pistol report went off.

"Andrea, get outta there!" hollered Shane.

Dale fired off another two rounds at the walkers near his feet and sat up only to be blinded by the harsh light hitting his face from ahead. He clapped his eyes shut for a moment, but still saw white spots in the sea of black and he turned away to the left. With the polka dot image still in front of him, he opened his eyes to see Daryl dispatching a walker near the door.

"Get your old ass outta that car, y'stupid bastard!" he snarled.

Jim and T-Dog were just behind him, keeping the path to the Wagon clear while Rick and Shane fought their way to the right side of the Buick.

"Dale, Andrea, move!" yelled Rick, swiping through the air with a rake.

"Come on, Dale, we have to get out _now_!" Andrea threw open her door, scrambled around to Dale's, seized his wrist, and pulled him after her. With his hand still clutched firmly around his rifle, Dale stumbled a few feet and nearly brought Andrea down with him, but her strength was enough to keep him upright as they sprinted for the Wagon. Andrea threw him into the middle seat and climbed in after him, squishing in tight as Daryl joined them. Rick slammed his door shut in the driver's seat and Shane took the passenger side. Jim hobbled over Daryl and Andrea, diving into the back seat and T-Dog brought up the rear, keeping his arms in tight to his sides to avoid hitting anyone.

"Go, man, step on it!" Daryl roared.

Rick shot the Wagon into reverse and Dale pressed a hand over his mouth as a wave of nausea settled in around his stomach at the movement of the vehicle.

"Son've a bitch, I've fuckin' _had_ it with these walkers," Daryl swore. "Where the hell'd they come from anyway?"

"Doesn't matter," said Shane, panting heavily. "We don't have time to think 'bout this; we gotta grab what we can and leave. We were already plannin' on it, but now it's final. This area ain't safe no more."

"No shit, Sherlock, when'd y'figure that out?" snapped Daryl. He tugged at his shirt and swore again even louder. "Lookit that, blood all over my favorite shirt."

"You've got six others just like it, now shut up," said Shane. "Rick, honk that horn and get everyone ready. We've gotta be ready to go in five."

"Wait, we're-we're _leaving_?" asked Andrea, finally processing what was happening around them.

Shane nodded, keeping watch on the road through the back window with Rick who was still speeding recklessly in reverse. He also had blood on him, but it, along with the blood on Daryl's shirt, was from the walkers. Dale could see the tension on Shane's face and the strain on Rick's, but the loss on Andrea's was the only one that mattered to him. She was coming to the realization that leaving meant putting Amy's death and grave behind her and the strong-willed survivor that had been present in her not two minutes ago was once again being overshadowed by the mourner. He foresaw a danger in leaving her to herself once they arrived back in camp; everyone would be busy packing up what they could and settling into the vehicles and he doubted that they'd notice her do whatever it was she was planning on.

Turning in his seat, Dale motioned for Jim to lean in closer so that he could whisper instructions. "Put her in the Winnebago," he said almost inaudibly.

Rick pressed the heel of his palm onto the horn as they pulled up beside the RV and Shane hollered, "Everybody out, c'mon we ain't got time to waste here!"

"Rick, what's happening? Did you find them? Are they alright?" asked Lori.

"They're fine, but we gotta move now. Get your things and throw 'em in the cars 'cuz we gotta bail. There's walkers headed this way."

The camp came alive with movement as tents were torn down and stuffed into the vehicles, equipment was gathered, and the survivors piled in with each other. Dale slipped off of his seat to allow Lori to take Andrea's arm and escort her out of the Wagon. Jim climbed out after her and nodded to Lori who patted Andrea's face.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly. "Andrea, look here, look at me. Honey, are you all right?"

"Yeah…" said Andrea distantly.

Shaking her head, Lori allowed Jim to guide Andrea into the RV while Dale threw his tools haphazardly into their box and stuffed it in the underside storage compartment. He helped Daryl put his own belongings in next to the toolbox and then locked the door. Stepping up, he took his place at the wheel of his faithful Winnebago and inserted the keys from the overhead visor into the ignition. In the rear-view mirror he could see Carol and Sophia with their arms around Andrea at the dining table and he switched on his headlights as Jim sidled into the passenger seat. Daryl, Shane, Rick, and T-Dog manned the other vehicles with Lori, Carl, Jacqui, and Glenn hitching a ride in whatever spaces were left after the luggage had been thrown unceremoniously inside.

A bucket lay here, a washing board there. Numerous items were still strewn pell-mell over the ground, but they hadn't been deemed important enough to take in the rush. The walkers could only be a few minutes behind them at most and there was no time to bother themselves with such things. One tent was still standing, half-way torn down. The sight brought a hard lump to Dale's throat as he followed in the procession line after Shane in the Pontiac to drive through the night.


	5. Chapter 5: An Act of Kindness

Personally Dale felt that taking to the road at night with headlights on was as bad as throwing themselves into a swarm of waiting walkers, but no one paid this viewpoint any attention when he called it to mind at their first stop for gas. Rick had shot down his suggestion of pulling over and setting up a watch on the side of the road until first light when it would be easier to pinpoint walkers. He should have remembered; his view didn't count for much. What did he know? He was only the oldest person in the group at fifty-five; there was no way he could possibly know anything about surviving. In slight indignation he pressed his foot down on the accelerator and the RV shot forward so that Jim who was sleeping in the passenger seat was jerked awake with a start. Dale urged him to rest again, stifling a yawn.

They drove through the night and at dawn Dale was leaning on the steering wheel with sleep tugging at his eyelids as if he had ten pound weights attached to them. When he could hold back the need to sleep no longer Jim suddenly grabbed his arm and shouted, "Look out!" Dale slammed on the breaks and screeched to a stop behind Shane with an inch or two to spare. In the back he saw the passengers lurch with the RV's movement and he called an apology over his shoulder.

"What the hell-?" he began, but decided to check out the situation for himself. He threw open the door and saw that Rick was holding his Colt Python on a small group of people who were huddled behind a broken down car that was sending up thick gray smoke. There were two men and one woman and by the looks of her bulging stomach, Dale could see that she was pregnant.

Jim handed Dale his rifle and the two of them stepped forward cautiously to hear the exchange of words going on. Rick's expression was calm, yet grave as he listened to the men state their piece.

"We just need a ride to another working car, that's all," said the taller of the men with sleek blonde hair. "I can hotwire it, but my wife here can't walk the distance to one. I can guarantee that we won't cause any trouble."

"Are you armed?" asked Rick.

"Yes, but if it'll help our cause, I'll set the weapons down to the right and let your people pick them up and hold them."

"It would help your cause," said Shane, coming forward with his Beretta at the ready. "How far along is she?" He jerked his head at the woman as Daryl and T-Dog joined the interrogation.

"She's close," said the husband a bit uncomfortably, "but we're prepared. My brother's a delivery doctor." He motioned at the blondish-orange haired man beside him who shared several of the same facial qualities.

"Take out the weapons, nice and easy and set 'em down," said Rick, cocking the Python. The husband revealed a shotgun and two pistols which he very slowly placed on the grass off to his right. "Hands up, all of you," Rick commanded. "Shane, go get the stash."

Shane gave a dry laugh. "Hell no, man, you go get it."

"I'll do it," said Dale impatiently. He shouldered his rifle and stalked forward, ignoring Jim's noise of protest. He went around the long way, keeping the smoking car between him and the strangers as a precaution. With his eyes on the men, he bent down and scooped up the weapons, back-tracing his steps until he was well out of their reach. "Well, that's that," he said conversationally. "Now what?"

Rick holstered his pistol, still appearing wary. "I'm Rick. This is Shane, Dale, Daryl, T-Dog, and Jim. Introductions made on our side. Your turn."

The husband put a hand to his chest. "I'm Isaac and this is my wife Selene and my brother Jared."

"You can ride in the RV," Dale offered. "She'll be more comfortable in there."

Both Isaac and Selene nodded gratefully, but a look passed between Rick and Shane that did not go unnoticed by Dale. He led the way to the Winnebago, made quick introductions to those already inside, and room was made for the three newcomers. Carol welcomed Selene onto the padded seat beside her and Sophia which Selene perched on with her swollen belly turned sideways. Isaac kissed her forehead and thanked them all once again as Dale started up the RV and fell back into line. Jim was partially turned in his own seat, regarding Isaac and Jared with a less-than hospitable nature and keeping a watchful eye on the newcomers' weapons at his feet.

Dale didn't understand what had everyone so tense; these people only wanted a ride to another car to hotwire, was that too much to ask for? They weren't looking to join up with the group or take any supplies, so why on earth was everyone on tenterhooks?

He listened to Carol ask Selene the gender of the baby and Isaac announced that it was to be a girl whom they would name Ivanna. Selene spoke eagerly of petty details regarding her baby's birth that Carol and Sophia listened intently to, but Dale chanced a look in the rearview mirror once again and saw that Andrea was sitting in the back on his bed with her legs tucked under her and her hands clasped, completely ignoring the new company. Dale asked Jim to take over at the wheel and he made his way into the bedroom, sitting down opposite Andrea on Jim's bed (the one she had occupied since Amy's death). He didn't expect her speak and so he just sat there, looking off to the side and waiting patiently for something to present itself in order to get a conversation going. It felt right that he should at least be there beside her if she needed him even if he didn't say a word or looked at her. When the two had sat in silence for about ten minutes she asked in a quavering voice, "Aren't you going to say something?"

"I didn't know if you wanted me to," he began gently. "I'm just—I'm right here if you need anything, you know that, right?"

Andrea met his eyes. The once brilliant and dazzling blue color had produced a coating of thin transparency so that she longer looked quite _there_. The effect on her face, on her body had been bad enough, but this—this was the final straw. He couldn't take it, seeing her look so alone, so woebegone, so _done._ This cold, empty outer shell she was displaying was not the woman he had grown to care for and respect; this was a hollowed out echo and he wanted Andrea back.

"You know, I thought we'd had it, back in the Buick," said Andrea solemnly. "I had that feeling of the inevitable and I was prepared for it right there next to you…but then you told me to run. You made me out to be a coward by assuming that I still wanted to live more than anything. Of course I wanted to live, at the time, but no more than you wanted to. I would have stayed behind for you; I was _ready_ and you ordered me out." Her vacant eyes bore into his, making an icy chill run down his nape.

"I don't—I'm not quite sure what you're getting at here," he said hesitantly. "Are you _blaming me_? What for? What did I do?"

"You thought that I deserved to live," said Andrea, bawling her hands into fists. "You assumed that I still had the will to survive somewhere in me and you took what little dignity I had left when you told me to escape out the back. No, that was stupid and selfish on your part. Why would you die for someone who you, once again, know _nothing_ about? What am I to you? Just what the hell am I worth to you? Your _life_, Dale?"

Dale came onto his knees in front of her so that he was looking slightly up. The last thing he wanted right now was to seem like an imposing figure. "You're _alive_, Andrea. That's worth something to all of us who are left. You ask what that's worth to me? Hell, why do you think I told you to run in the first place? I _wanted_ to because I can and I deserve to choose my own death. If that means for you, or for Jim, or whoever, then so be it. Do you understand me? How dare you call _me_ selfish? How dare you sit there, wallowing at how unfair the world has been to you when it's been just as cruel to me? We both lost people to these-these _things_, and we both earned the right to grieve, but you've gone far enough. Your sister is not coming back and you can't follow her, not while I'm still here, so I am begging you on my knees please, come back to us, to me. With you not here in the right mindset with us, it's taking its toll and weighing us down, whether you see it or not. You're hurting the group and you're hurting me. I don't care if you don't give a damn; you can't abandon people when they need you most. Lori's done nothing but worry about you and Jim and Glenn are constantly asking where you are, if you're all right, but they're not as concerned as I am. I promise you that I'm the one who worries the most about you and I'm telling you right now that every day you slip further away, you're getting that much closer to killing me. You have to find a way back on your own; I can't force you to, but I can urge all I want and that's what I'm doing."

Andrea broke eye contact, staring determinedly at her knees. Dale didn't know if he got through to her or if he had crossed the boundary line, but he was prepared to accept and face all consequences for what he said if it only meant bringing her back. He used the bedside table to help himself up and taking her head in his hands, kissed the top of her soft blonde strands, putting all of his emotion into that one action so that she would know and hopefully navigate the path he was trying to lead her down.


	6. Chapter 6: The Only Way Out

It was just their luck that they couldn't find a single car in good condition to leave the newcomers with and as if there wasn't enough strain on Rick and Shane to begin with, now the thought of having to house three other people for the night was weighing on them. They took Dale's advice and pulled up on the side of the road, parking the vehicles in a circle like settlers used to do with wagons as added protection. What little food they had was divided accordingly, but they still came up two portions short. Only Rick, Shane, and Dale were aware of this and Shane forced Rick into taking his own share while Dale handed off his ration to Andrea who was sitting on the RV steps, hugging a blanket around her. It was too dangerous lighting a fire in such an insecure area and they had to make do with what they had brought to keep them warm. In an undertone Dale heard Rick telling Shane to gather the weapons and hide them in the Pontiac while Isaac, Selene, and Jared were setting up sleeping bags on the grass beside the Wagon. Lori, Carol, Carl, and Sophia slept between the men who had all concealed a smaller weapon under their shirts as a precaution. Daryl took the first watch atop the RV with his gaze focused outwards towards the road and his crossbow sitting on his lap. In the front seat of the Winnebago Jim had his legs resting on top of the dashboard in one of the most uncomfortable positions Dale had ever seen.

Andrea was already asleep with her back turned to him when Dale sat down on his mattress. He swung his legs up onto the musty-smelling blankets and nestled back into his arm pillow with his hat slipping down over his eyes. Andrea had come out to join them for dinner on her own free will and it gave him hope, however small, that she was coming around to her senses. She would see just how much she meant to them, he knew she would…

After traveling the country in his beloved old vehicle, Dale knew the sound of its creaky hinges yielding the door open and so when he heard the squeak some time later he sat up on instinct. He saw no one coming inside, and with cold dread settling over his heart, he switched on the lamp beside him. Andrea's bed was vacant.

_Shit!_

He snatched up his rifle and hurried out the door to see Andrea's blonde ponytail whipping out of sight behind the Jeep as she set off into the woods. Mentally cursing, Dale shuffled after her, climbing over the Jeep's hood in a far less graceful manner than he supposed Andrea had. Halfway over he felt a cramp in his inner thigh and hopped around on one leg trying to shake it out. Thinking to himself that he couldn't look more ridiculous, he hobbled along as fast as his leg allowed. The air was unnaturally cold but the moon was bright, nearly full, and it shed enough light to guide him. Less than fifty meters from the car circle he caught up to her, for he had been in a hurry and she hadn't. She did, however, hear him coming and in one flawless motion she had turned her Ladysmith on him.

Dale's heart took a nose-dive plunge down into his digestive system. How could he have been so stupid as to forget to tell Shane to take Andrea's pistol as well?

"Andrea, it's just me," he said calmly, hands up in surrender.

"I know it's you; I'm not blind," Andrea snapped. "Turn around and go back, Dale. You're not supposed to be here."

"Neither are you. I'm not stupid and I can see what you're planning on doing."

"Well, pretend like you didn't see it."

Dale laughed, empty, cold, and dry. He hated the sound born from his throat, hated himself for showing such hostility, but he could not believe what he was hearing. "What the hell is the matter with you?" he demanded. "Did you even listen to a word I said?"

"I heard," said Andrea tonelessly, "and I think it's all bullshit. I think _you_ need to stop being selfish. You don't want me alive for me; you want me alive for _you_. I listen, I see things, and I know what it is you want, but I have news for you, old man, it's never going to happen. I'll never be a replacement for the wife you lost."

_Old man_. She had said the ultimate heart-breaker, the final insult. That's all he was to her? An old man who wanted a replacement for Irma? His wife was his life and all he loved, but he had learned to let her go and in doing so he had grown to care for others, including Andrea, but if she thought their relationship meant shit, so be it.

"You don't even have the guts to do this where we can see it?" he called out to her with as much contempt as he could fit into his voice, though he thought he might have ruined the effect slightly when he heard the anger and sorrow threatening to pour over. "Are you too much of a coward to commit suicide alone in the woods instead of facing us as you do it?"

"Don't you _dare_ call me a coward!"

"I just did because that's what you are. You're a self-centered coward and you're only hurting yourself in doing this," Dale spat.

"You son of a bitch. You lying, good-for-nothing, two-faced, son of a _bitch_! You'll be hurting, don't deny it!"

"Yes, I will, yet you're still going to go through with it because obviously I don't mean shit to you!" He dared to move a foot forward, closing the distance between them.

Andrea cocked her pistol with a shake of her head. "Don't try it, Dale. How are you planning on stopping me, huh? You going to shoot me?"

Dale let his arm drop and his rifle fell to the ground as he took another step towards her. "No. You think one is better than the other? You think that if I shoot you to stop you that it'll compensate for you having to do it yourself? Well, in place of being a coward, you're gutless to yourself. You can't do it and you won't."

"Watch me," said Andrea, showing her teeth.

"I am watching," said Dale putting out his hand to her. "I've been watching and if you really were going to do it, you would have already; you wouldn't have gone to the trouble of arguing with me. Someone who wants to commit suicide doesn't care about going out in a good light."

Andrea switched her aim to her temple and Dale froze in place with his foot on its way to going down in his next step. "Don't come any closer or I'll shoot," she warned.

There it was; he had her now. "_Or_?" he whispered. He could see that she realized her mistake.

"This is my only way out, Dale, why can't you understand that?"

"Because I'm stubborn and because you don't need a way out," he reasoned. Squinting through the darkness he could just make out her finger nowhere near the trigger, completely relaxed. He was now less than five feet from her and almost close enough to touch her. "You know that the last thing I want to do is hurt you, honey. You know that, right? You're broken right now and if I let you pull that trigger, that's how you'll die."

If he could just close the rest of the distance between them…

He saw the regret in her eyes, the tiniest bit of light in the sapphires that he thought had gone out for good and he made his move. Seizing her wrist, he yanked the Ladysmith away from her head and she fired. The bullet hit the ground, but the sound made Dale go temporarily into shock. She would have done it, he realized. If he hadn't reacted exactly when he did, she would have fired. He wrestled her down so that he was almost sitting on her while he held her pistol hand down. She struck out at him with her free hand, screaming and cursing him.

"Get off of me you bastard, get the hell off! Fuck you Dale Horvath!"

"Shut up, _shut up_!" he urged. If it was daytime and he could see his surroundings, he would have let her continue to rant and rave, but now he was concerned that her screams would bring walkers around and so he had to let her beat out at him as he covered her mouth with his other hand. "Shh! That's enough!" He winced as she brought her knees up and struck him in the back, but he held on tight. "Andrea, stop it!"

Something hard struck him across the shoulder blades and he fell sideways, wrenching Andrea's pistol with him. He caught a brief glimpse of the silhouette of a hand rising before it made contact with his face and blood dribbled into his mouth. The coppery taste made him gag and he threw up an arm to protect himself.

"Y'sick son've a bitch! I'll teach ya t'handle a woman!"

Daryl. Daryl thought that Dale had been—

The young man struck again and this time Dale hit back, but then Daryl's fingers found Dale's throat and he saw stars that were not the ones raining down from the heavens. His fingers scrabbled at Daryl's wrists, unable to pry his hands off. As quickly as it had happened, it was over. Choking on air, Dale could see three people struggling to hold Daryl back, one of them holding a flashlight. Dale saw Jim, Shane, and Isaac restraining Daryl as Rick rushed to Andrea. Sitting up and gasping for breath, Dale felt the Ladysmith still in his hands and quickly hid it under his breeze shirt.

"Dirty fucker, c'mere!" hollered Daryl, trying to throw Jim off of him.

"What happened?" shouted Rick over Daryl's cursing as he looked from Dale to Andrea and back again.

Dale took a moment to grasp the situation. Caught up in the moment with trying to keep the Ladysmith away from Andrea and trying to keep her quiet, Dale didn't realize how much noise they had actually made or indeed, the noise the gunshot had created. Of course Daryl who was on watch would have heard the shot and come running to the rescue only to see—see what? What did it look like? Surely he couldn't have mistaken Dale's attempts to calm Andrea to be _rape_? The idea was ludicrous…and yet that was the very reason why Daryl had attacked him. To anyone watching, assault was exactly what it looked like.

How was he supposed to explain this? Either he spared himself embarrassment or he protected Andrea. He could say that he had been trying take her weapon to prevent her from putting a bullet in her mouth or—or nothing. There was no _or_. Andrea would just have to learn to forgive him.

"She was trying to pull the trigger on herself," he explained, spitting out blood from between his teeth. "I stopped her, but she pulled the trigger when I forced her down. I was trying to hold her in place, but I guess it didn't look like that to somebody." He shot a nasty look at Daryl. "Whatever that piece of work thought, it wasn't what he saw. I'd _never_…" He left the sentence hanging, too ashamed to say anything else.

Daryl stopped fighting and looked to Andrea for confirmation. She didn't look at all forgiving, her face a stormy mask of hate, which told all. If she had been assaulted, she would be regarding him with fear, not anger. "Give me back my gun," she demanded.

Dale breathed an inward sigh of relief. It was that one sentence that saved him. He stood up, running the back of his hand over the cut Daryl had left on his cheek. The culprit had been let go and was now looking incredibly sheepish.

"Next time, think with something other than your ass, son," said Dale curtly.


	7. Chapter 7: It's All in the Timing

Dale's head hurt like hell. His shoulders were bruised from where Daryl had hit him and his cheek was swelling up from the cut left by Daryl's fist. He hated to admit it, but he relished the look of guilt on the short-tempered man's face every time he passed by him. Who could possibly have mistaken Dale's actions as dishonest ones? No one could be that stupid. No, on second thought Daryl could—Daryl was.

He hadn't gotten much sleep that night and he spent the majority of his time trying to fathom Andrea's actions in his head. She was now on suicide watch under careful observation from Lori and Jared and the few times he had caught her eye, he could see that she clearly wished Daryl had been allowed to continue pummeling his face in. That didn't faze him as much as the sound of the gunshot that was still ringing deafeningly in his ears. She would have done it and it was this that made Dale lock himself in the bathroom and bury his face in his hands. Tears were threatening to pour down his face, but somehow he managed to keep them in.

It didn't matter if Andrea or anyone else saw him like this, so weak, so vulnerable. Andrea didn't care anymore, so why the hell should he? Why should he try to hide everything the apocalypse had brought out in him if he was no longer concerned about shielding his frail image from Andrea? It was never a matter of impressing anyone; he was just desperate to be seen as a strong individual, someone who could be trusted and someone who was the rock to lean on. That meant nothing now. Andrea was gone, just like Amy and she was not coming back.

"Dale, I know you're in there and you'd better come out right now because one, I need to talk to you and two, I need to pee," said Lori from the other side of the door.

Drying his eyes of any tears that might have come out, Dale sniffed and unlocked the door. Lori was leaning against the counter, arms folded, but her expression was not unkind. She sat down at the table and beckoned him to accompany her, which he did, determinedly looking her in the face.

"Before you ask, Jared and Isaac are both watching over her," she said hastily.

"To be honest, I don't really care much at this point," said Dale in what he hoped was a convincing tone. He didn't want to discuss Andrea or anything whatsoever related to her.

"I managed to get the whole story out of her, though her position was sort of biased," Lori continued. "She said that you were stubbornly insistent but that you almost had her convinced before you um, 'tackled and knocked the wind out of' her. According to her, it was like having an elephant sitting on her chest while trying to wrestle with its trunk, which I take it meant you were trying to get her gun out of her hands while she was screaming and that's how Daryl found you."

"Yeah," said Dale unenthusiastically.

"And Daryl was also very adamant when he said that he saw what was in the moment."

Dale rolled his eyes and shook his head to himself. Daryl _would_ say that…

"But he also said that he should have really thought things through before he acted," Lori added. "He pointed out that when lives are at stake, there's not much time to think and that's his defense, but if you consent to it, he would like to speak to you alone on the roof when I'm done talking to you here."

"Oh, you're not done," muttered Dale. "So you didn't just come in here to tell me what I already knew from different perspectives?"

"I came to ask you to not give up on her."

Dale had certainly not expected this, but regardless, he was only angered more. "Why not? She's already given up on herself; why should we waste our breaths trying to put that in reverse? I tried and she just spat everything I said back in my face. I'm done with her. If she wants to shoot her brains, let her."

"I don't think you realize just how devastated you'll be if she goes through with this," said Lori, taking Dale's hand. "I can see that she knows how much you care, but I don't think that she feels you're enough. She doesn't know what you can offer her to stay."

"I can't make it any plainer than I already have."

"If you really want to keep her with us, you'll find a way to make it crystal clear. In the meantime, I'll keep talking to her while you go talk to Daryl," said Lori, making a quick move towards the bathroom to take care of her business.

Daryl wouldn't let anyone else take watch, almost as if he was determined to spot something and compensate for his mistake. Dale climbed the ladder in a very disgruntled sort of way and once he was at the top he cleared his throat for Daryl to hear him. Swallowing uncomfortably, Daryl stuffed one hand into his pocket and dropped his gaze. He looked so much like a child that Dale actually felt genuinely sorry for him and was almost prepared to forgive him—almost. The ache in his jaw reminded him that he had a very valid reason to be angry at Daryl.

There was no awkward silence. Daryl just plunged right into it. "Look man, I didn't have time t'think. I heard a gunshot, heard Andrea screamin', saw it all, and I went t'town. Weren't nothin' personal, just instinct. I's just protectin' her, like you."

"I can understand that."

"So we're cool?"

"That wasn't much of an apology."

"Aw, c'mon old timer," Daryl complained. "'M'sorry, alright? Good 'nough?"

"I suppose so. Just do me a favor and spare a few seconds to consider your surroundings."

"I can do that," said Daryl eagerly.

"Daryl," called Rick up to them, "have you seen Carl?"

"Saw 'im 'bout ten minutes ago sittin' in the Jeep," said Daryl. "Why, what's wrong?"

"I can't find him."

Dale felt a cold chill run down his spine. He knew how adventurous Carl loved to be and out here where there was no safe haven, that was a very dangerous thing. He couldn't have gone far, though, could he? He wouldn't—unless he was lost.

"Shit. Shane, you, Daryl, and Glenn grab a weapon; we've gotta go find him." Rick checked the rounds in his Python and crawled over the Pontiac with the order, "Jim, keep an eye on things; we'll be back in a bit."

Dale took over Daryl's watch, pressing his binoculars against his eyes and scanning the horizon for the boy. Why, _why_? Did that child have to choose _now_ to go exploring? Dale couldn't curse Carl, but he wasn't blessing him either. He felt at home up here, back in his comfort zone where he could watch everyone, observe and not be observed. He had a view of the newcomers who were resting under the sunlight side by side and T-Dog curled up in the shade sweating profusely and chugging his water bottle as if he was about to face a ten year drought. Jacqui was helping Jim who went rummaging in the vehicles for his personal belongings which had somehow gone missing in the maze of cars. _And no one was watching Andrea_.

False alarm. She was only conked out on the grass cradling her Ladysmith to her chest. For the moment, this was how he liked her because she couldn't shoot dirty looks at him or make him uneasy. He had just sat down on the edge of his chair when he spotted a person approaching from the direction the others had come, though straight away he could tell that it wasn't anyone in their company. A quick look through the binoculars confirmed his fear. There was blood staining the front of the person's shirt and flesh dangling from their lower teeth which immediately changed the use of the word 'they' to 'it'.

"Jim, walker coming in at twelve," he called.

Craning his neck over the Pontiac, Jim snatched up his bat and hurried off to cut the walker down before it could get any closer. The sound of a jawbone cracking and a skull splashing out brains was loud enough to stir Isaac and Selene from their sleep, but Jared was still out cold with his mouth wide open as he snored away. Isaac kicked him in the shin roughly and his brother snapped up in alarm.

"What happened?" asked Isaac, looking skyward at Dale.

"There was a walker, but Jim took care of it," Dale explained, once again getting ready to settle into his chair when Jared gave a disgusted cry.

"What the hell-? Isaac, did you piss all over the place?"

"That wasn't him," said Selene, suddenly going very pale as she put a hand on her belly, "it's me."

"Oh, shit, she's going into labor!" hollered Jared. "I need towels, people! Dale, Jacqui, somebody give me a hand here!" At the same time Dale, Jim, Jacqui, and Andrea gathered around Selene with anything they thought might be useful for birthing a baby. For once Andrea didn't regard Dale with hostility as she soothed Selene.

"This is some shitty timing," said Jim and Dale couldn't agree more with everything else that was going on.


	8. Chapter 8: Out of Body and Mind

Lori and Carol joined the party shortly, coaching Selene and instructing her to breathe while Sophia lingered in the background. Dale had absolutely no idea how to help and so he backed off as well, nudging Jim to do the same. The women, Isaac, and Jared clustered around Selene who was beginning to hyperventilate. At the moment Dale felt utterly useless and he was pretty sure Jim felt the same, but what could they do? They certainly couldn't get back in on the circle around the woman in labor unless they wanted to suffocate her, but Dale also realized how rude it was for them to be standing there gawking like idiots.

"What do we do now?" asked Jim in an undertone.

"Just wait, I guess," Dale suggested. "Wait for the others to come back and for the baby to come out."

"Dale, is it just me or do I hear moaning?" asked T-Dog, still sweating and now looking severely dehydrated. Jim walked over to where T-Dog was lying and poked his head over the Pontiac. When he turned around Dale read the immediate terror on his face.

"How many?" asked Andrea in dread as she turned her attention to Jim as well.

"Maybe a dozen," said Jim, gulping loudly.

"Jim, get the guns," Dale instructed. "You and I'll take as many out from here as we can."

"I can help," Andrea volunteered.

"He'll help too," said Jared, shoving Isaac towards them with his shoulder. "I don't need you here and you'd be better use to them, now move it!"

Jim found the weapons Shane had hidden and handed Isaac the latter's own pistol as he took another for himself and an extra shotgun. Dale knew he was likely to catch hell for defying Rick's orders and arming the people they hardly knew but this was a desperate situation that couldn't be avoided. He took up a position between the Jeep and the Pontiac and aimed through his Hawkeye scope at the closest walker as Jim and Isaac selected their own targets. Andrea had her sights on a fourth walker. The sounds of Selene gasping and Jared coaching behind him were extremely distracting, but Dale knew that he was going to have to find a way to block them out. He breathed harshly out of his nose and fired. If he thought that taking out the walkers would eliminate the threat, he was sorely mistaken, for it only alerted the other walkers in the area of their presence. A gunshot would go off on Dale's left and then he would hear Jared shout, followed by Selene swearing.

"They heard us, right?" asked Jim as he fired off his third round. "The others've gotta be coming back now."

"Damn it, Selene, do _not _hold your breath! Stop that—_breathe, _you idiot!"

Adding to the sounds of battle, a new sound joined them though it was much higher pitched while also being much gentler. Dale glanced over his shoulder to see a small pink head just visible under Lori's arm. Selene broke into sobs and called out to her husband who spared one loving look for his daughter before he turned his pistol on Dale and Jim.

"Where's the keys to the Pontiac?" he asked dangerously, stepping away from them towards his wife and brother.

"You double-crossing bastard," Jim snarled.

"More of those things will be coming after all the noise we made and I don't want to be around for it. I have a baby to think about. I just want the car, that's all, now where are the keys?"

"Isaac, are you out of your fucking mind? What the hell are you doing?" asked Jared with a birthing towel still in his hands.

"Shut up, Jared; get Selene and Ivanna up and move them towards the car."

"You're going to get someone killed, son, put the gun down," Dale advised.

"Keep back. Now tell me where the damn keys are!"

Dale saw Jim reaching for the pistol in place of the shotgun he already had in hand, but he made a noise in his throat to stop him. "He's just desperate, Jim, let him go. The keys are under the floor mat, but you won't get far; the car's almost out of gas."

"Then tell me where there's more," Isaac demanded. He grabbed Jacqui by the wrist and put the pistol to her temple. All sense of reason left Dale in that one act. He had been willing to let Isaac go before, but now that he took a hostage, he had crossed the invisible line. Dale cocked his rifle.

"You let go of her or you don't get shit."

"Who has control over the situation?" Isaac thundered. "I'm the one with the leverage, old man! Get me some gas and back away from the Pontiac or I won't hesitate!"

"Isaac, please…" said Selene quietly. "Please, don't."

"I'm doing this for you and the baby!" he spat at her.

"Dale, they're coming in," warned Jim with a nervous glance back at the walkers closing in around the vehicles. "We don't have time to argue…"

"Dale, just give him the gas," begged Lori as Jared helped Selene to stand up after wrapping a towel around her waist, but Isaac's brother didn't lead her towards the Pontiac. Instead he steered her backwards to where the RV was parked.

"We're not going anywhere, Isaac, not with you like this."

"Pull your head out of your ass, Jared. If you don't get going now, you're not going to make it."

"No, you're the one who's not going to make it if you keep this up," Jared argued.

Isaac burrowed his pistol deeper into Jacqui's head and as she gave a small whimper of pain Jim moved in, but Isaac held him off. "No, you get back, damn it! Jared, you can stay here and rot for all I care, but you let go of my wife and daughter! They go with me!"

Selene's tears of joy at the birth of her daughter turned wry as she watched her husband deteriorate before her eyes. With her arms around Ivanna she stepped back to shield herself behind Jared. "I'm staying here, Isaac," she wept. The arm Isaac had around Jacqui's throat slackened and she slipped free, rushing away to Lori and Carol. At the same time Isaac turned his weapon on his brother, prepared to fire, but Andrea was quicker and she shot off a round straight into his bicep. Shouting out a jumble of curses, Isaac spun towards her and took aim. He got no farther as a bullet cut through the air and embedded itself in his left eye socket. Jared and Selene simultaneously screamed as Shane and Glenn came scrambling between the cars, putting down several walkers. Shane had Rick's Python drawn on Isaac's body.

"Guess he won't be needin' that gas."

"Where's Rick?" asked Lori. "Did you find Carl?"

Shane didn't look at her and neither did Glenn, but as Dale saw Daryl and Rick making their way forward, he could see very clearly why. Daryl was covering Rick's escape as the former officer stumbled into view carrying Carl's body in his blood-stained arms. There was a terrifying gash across his throat where a walker had bitten it wide open. The boy's freckled face was completely white and in death he was extremely small. Lori gave a scream and ran to Rick, throwing her arms over her son's lifeless body. Glenn pulled is hat off and ran an arm under his nose, fighting back tears. In unison with Lori's wails, Jared dropped down beside Isaac's body and began to choke on his own tears that refused to fall.

"Are you happy now, Dale?" said Rick hoarsely. "_Are you_? We took in those strangers who I spent all my time worrying about when I should have been watching my boy and now he's dead, so _are you fucking happy_?"

"I…" Dale faltered.

Jim broke the stillness by giving a roar and jumping over the Jeep to plunge his knife down into a walker's head. Dale blinked, slamming back into reality. People were dead, others would die if they didn't focus and use what time they had left to fight off the walkers before they were overwhelmed. Shane and Glenn defended their right and snatching up Isaac's gun, Jacqui took the left with Dale. Jared and Selene were both sobbing now along with the Grimeses. Carol and Sophia were hugging each other close to the RV. Daryl stood up on top of the Jeep and let off round after round from his shotgun. Blood flew upward in fountains like the Belagio Fountain in Las Vegas and as he watched, transfixed, Dale couldn't think, couldn't bring himself to his proper senses.

Then Andrea screamed.

T-Dog was grappling for Andrea's neck as she tried to fight him off. What Dale saw didn't make _sense_. Why was he—right now—in the midst of a battle—what could…then he gave an inhuman growl and moved violently, exposing the back of his upper arm where there was a plain as day, unmistakable bite mark oozing puss and blood. The dehydration became clear and the truth hit Dale in the stomach like a punch to his gut. He dropped his rifle and threw his arms around T-Dog's middle, desperately tugging to pull him backward and away from Andrea. With an almighty roar of strength he pried T-Dog off of her and as he did T-Dog wriggled free, turning on him and preparing to bite down with giant jaws on Dale's exposed arm.

Time passed by at half speed. Slow, steady, deliberate, unyielding. Dale heard the flesh parting as a bullet passed through T-Dog, but a few moments later he felt extremely hollow and _not there_…but only for a fraction of a second. The pain came on in full lapse as time hit the fast forward button and smashed head-long into him. T-Dog's body dropped, but Dale remained standing, tasting the metallic blood coming up his throat. He looked down and his eyes met the sight of his own blood spilling out from his chest. Touching a hand to the wound, he felt warmness dribble over his fingers.

Daryl stood atop the Jeep, lowering his pistol with mouth agape in absolute horror.

"Andrea…?" Dale heard himself say. His legs crumpled beneath him and he hit the grass, though he couldn't feel its softness. There was nothing to see, or feel, or sense in any way whatsoever except the pain. From his scalp down to his feet his body was on fire, the victim of a volcanic eruption, of freezing to death, of a walker bite and mutation, of drowning, of a broken heart, and of a bullet shot. He saw his hands shaking fiercely but couldn't feel the tips of his fingers other than the pain on the inside.

"Fuck! Son've a fuckin' bitch!" Daryl's image swam in front of Dale, flushed and terrified. "Shit! Dale, 'm'sorry—I—just hold on, y'hear me?"

Dale's legs had gone entirely numb now. There was blood spilling out of his lips which Daryl hastily wiped away with his hand.

"Jared! You get your ass over here now, right _fuckin' now_!"

Shouts turned to slurred words in Dale's head. They made no sense, nothing did. He could only hear his own heart hammering and pumping blood madly. Then everything came rushing back in full, deafeningly. Jim dropped to his knees by Dale's head and close to him Dale saw Shane ripping bandages into strips. And Andrea appeared across from Dale.

"You stupid bastard. Stay with me, Dale. I'm here…"

He saw her squeezing his hand even though he couldn't feel it. She put her other hand against his cheek and held it there. "Look at me, Dale. Look at my eyes and breathe. I'm right here; I'll stay with you. I'm not going anywhere."

The pain in his throat made him suspect that he told her something, though what he didn't know. But he knew that he had her back. She came back—for him.

"Please hold on…"

The sorrow, the desperation in her voice made a lump form above Dale's Adam 's apple but he was still ashamed to feel hot liquid running from his eyes and down his cheek. He didn't want to see the disappointment on Andrea's face and he closed his eyes, blocking her and everything else out, even the pain.

Even the pain…pain…and nothing else…


	9. Chapter 9: The Brink of Beyond

There was a fine line between reality and dreams, but he could not identify it. There was nothing to think of, nothing to consider but pain and wait for closure when it came, if it came. He could see nothing but stars floating in and out of focus behind his closed eyelids. From a great distance he would feel something press against his fingertips or run along his cheek, but the sensation was so faint that he doubted whether it existed at all or if it was a figment of the imagination that he knew was dying.

He had been shot. Exactly where or how he didn't know…couldn't remember…didn't care. Faces were hard to remember, names were harder. What was _his_ name and why wasn't he dead yet? Death would be welcome at this point after an eternity in semi-darkness; seeing the light, but never being close enough to touch it and let go. A release from this horrid punishment was all he desired now. Life was not worth pursuing if it meant that his conscience existed in the limbo between two worlds. Was it too much to beg for at this point, just a simple escape from the cruel life he had been left with?

He saw a woman's face, aging, yet still young. She had small wrinkles around her eyes; eyes that were dazzling gray but almost purple. Somehow he had the feeling that he knew her, but her name would not come to mind. He could recall almost nothing of what he had been, _who_ he had been and as he lay there on a bed of uncertainty, he prayed for the end. The word sounded so appealing that it almost hurt more than the pain of his wound. Voices would call out to him in the dark, followed closely by a whisper and a ghost of what he should have known. Always, the voices were the same, a man's and a woman's, both of them kind and pleading, but he couldn't identify their origin. Were they the dead beckoning him forward or the living calling him back? He tried to move one way or the other, which way didn't matter; he only wanted to be rid of the endless _nothing_.

He recognized the touch for what it was: a hand. Someone had their hand on his chest, but as suddenly as he put a name to the feeling, it vanished. He tried to return to it and recollect what it meant, but the thought and everything existing with it was gone. Then it happened again, this time a hard amount of pressure against his palm and he clung to it tighter than he had to the hand on his chest, but once again it was whisked into oblivion along with his hopes of ever knowing peace in this world of echoes, these shadowlands of uncertainty. The third time he knew exactly what was happening when it did and he forced himself to focus every fiber of his being on the coolness against his cheek. His wound felt far away but also agonizingly close. He was one with his body but not quite of it. Words flashed across his vision, molding and shaping themselves into things of meaning and then names added to the jumble, names he knew and loved and hoped for with all of his heart. With a pain beyond anything he had felt before he wrenched himself free of the darkness and slammed into a world of human pain, human sensations.

There was a dull orange tinge in front of his eyes; the light shining through his eyelids. Where he summoned the strength to pull the lids open he didn't know. They opened, if only a sliver and colors whirled together. For one terrifying moment he thought he was blind, but then the colors separated and made sense, made shapes that he recognized. There was still a cold feeling on his face, still a hand pressing against his own, still agony from his wound, but he could see.

Everything flooded back into him in a giant tidal wave and he wasted no time in wondering where it had all gone. He saw Andrea stroking his cheek, face gaunt and tear-stricken, her eyes blood-shot. She leaned closer to him, coming onto her knees by his head.

"Dale, can you hear me? It's me…"

It sounded as if her words were slurring together and coming to him from a television channel thick with static, but as she raised her voice, he caught every word.

"Daryl! Shane, he's awake!" She ran her fingers along his forehead, dabbing at the sweat collected there with a damp towel. "I knew you'd be coming back you tough old bastard."

Dale attempted to speak, but felt a constriction in his throat. It was parched and clogged with blood and he gagged on his own unspoken words. Andrea shushed him gently, wringing out tiny droplets of water onto his lips for him to drink. He pried his lips open and extended his aching long-unused tongue muscle to seek out the drops.

"Don't try to talk. There's nothing you need to say, all right? Everything is fine. We're all okay."

"Are his eyes open?" asked Daryl, appearing at her side and looking almost as bad, though with a bit more color on his complexion. He took a knee on Andrea's right and leaned over her to press his knuckles to Dale's temple. "How ya doin', buddy?"

"Don't make him speak," Andrea advised. "It took him enough effort to get his eyes open."

Shane squeezed into the room, a tight fit considering how Dale and Jim's bed took up three quarters of it and Andrea and Daryl were taking up half of the last quarter. He patted Dale's leg comfortingly with relief on his face. "We gotcha back, old timer. Rick, Jared, and I worked on you for almost three hours, and a couppla times I thought we'd lost ya. I tell ya, though, we might've lost Andrea too if you hadn't acted when you did. No one knew T-Dog was—no one suspected even for a second, y'know? He must've gotten bit when we pulled you'n Andrea outta the Buick, but nobody saw him. No one was paying you any attention while you were battling with him—I mean Rick'n Lori…with Carl…and Jared was holding Isaac and the rest've us were fighting. We just didn't see it happening and I'm real sorry about that, Dale. We couldda gotten there sooner for you, but-,"

"It was my fault," said Daryl, sounding like he had a head cold. "I had one clean shot and I took it without thinking where the bullet would come out. It was you'n Andrea back in the woods all over agin…I didn't think, had m'head up m'ass and I nearly killed ya. Shit, Dale, 'm'sorry. I am _so_ sorry."

Dale didn't want to hear any more of it. He imagined that with Daryl sitting at his bedside for however long he had been unconscious, wondering whether or not he would wake up, the poor man had been punished enough, but he couldn't move his arms to wave his apology aside or speak to cut him off. He only nodded his head very slightly to show that he understood. He didn't blame Daryl in the least; not this time.

"Jared and Selene are still with us," Andrea explained. "We buried Carl, T-Dog, and Isaac and moved out of that location. Luckily there were enough of us to take out the rest of the walkers, but the others were still having a hard time keeping them off of us after you went down. That-that was almost five days ago."

Five days. He had been on the brink of death for _five days_. After that long, he would have expected to pass on, but something within him had brought him back.

Shane gave his leg another pat with the promise to check in on him later. Daryl kept up a continuous stream of apologies until Andrea finally told him to shut up and sent him away. She put more water on Dale's lips which he slowly swallowed, blinking back tears. They had almost no meaning; he couldn't figure out, for the life of him, _why_ he was crying. He had no reason to, but the tears fell free and he tried to turn his head away so that Andrea wouldn't see him. He was already too weak and frail to move anything but his head and the last thing he needed was for her to see him at his worst. Andrea put her hand to his face, gently stroking it with her thumb.

"It's all right now, Dale. Don't be ashamed, don't you dare. You have _nothing _to be ashamed of, do you hear me? You did what was right; all along you did what was right and I thought—I was afraid I wouldn't get the chance to tell you that. I'm so sorry, Dale—for everything." She craned her neck forward to kiss his forehead and gave his hand a tighter squeeze.

Dale felt a tear roll off the apple of his cheek and bit his lip. He couldn't tell her what it meant to him to have her sitting right beside him, the woman he knew and remembered…and loved.


	10. Chapter 10: Always Present

**I'll just say sorry for the wait and put the rest of the apology after the chapter.**

If there was one sound Dale did not expect to hear when he awoke in the middle of the night it was a baby's cry. It had completely slipped his exhausted mind that Selene had given birth and that the child was likely to wail now and again. The second day after Dale had come back into consciousness he had spent the majority of his time listening to the sounds outside the RV since he was much too weak to be moved anywhere let alone sit up in bed. He noted the absence of Carl's voice as well as T-Dog's and his heart clenched painfully at the thought of the gravesite he would never see, the closure he would never be able to give or receive at the loss of two of his good friends. As for Isaac, the man had been desperate and could not be blamed completely for his actions, but it was his child that jerked Dale awake in the dead of night.

His mouth was dry once again—his thirst seemed unquenchable these past few days—and he tried reaching for the canteen Jared had left by his bedside. It hurt to raise his arm, but then again it hurt to be alive. As he extended his splayed fingers, his wound stretched and the dry blood cracked to make room for fresh blood. He gave a soft whimper, drawing his arm back in pain.

"Dale…?"

On Jim's bed Lori sat up and turned on the flashlight close at hand. She shined it on his legs and worked her way up to his chest to check his wound. With gentle fingers she lifted his bandages and then clicked her tongue in disapproval. "We told you not to move, didn't we? Now I have to call Jared back in here. What were you trying to do, anyway?"

Dale felt a stab of annoyance. If they didn't want him to move, they should put anything he might need within his reach so that he wouldn't have to go out of his way to try and grab it. He pointed to the water canteen with his eyes and made a half-hearted reach for it again. Lori's stern face relaxed into one of sympathy and she knelt down beside him, unscrewing the cap to the canteen and lifting it to his lips. Dale took it in his hands. He could do it himself and didn't need her help, though she and a few of the others were acting as if he were a child that didn't know how to properly handle things. The shifts rotated along with the guard duty atop the RV every two hours, but Dale looked forward most to Andrea and Jim's shifts, for Andrea would go on about some story or another of her and Amy and Jim would sit by silently, loyally.

It wasn't that he disliked Lori, but he would have preferred it if she had a little more respect for him and his capabilities. He had survived being shot, hadn't he? If he could live through that, picking up a water bottle should be nothing, providing that it wasn't on the other side of the room. He had felt every sort of embarrassment there was to feel when he had conveyed to Andrea that he needed to take a leak, and though he was nowhere near strong enough to make his way to the bathroom, he was still able to ask her to send Jim or Shane in to help him do his business into a bucket. It was painful for both him and Daryl when the younger man took watch for his face clearly expressed his yearning to apologize over and over again to Dale, but Andrea had forbidden him from saying one more word about it lest she carve out his tongue with a potato peeler and make him eat it. To distract himself from begging forgiveness, Daryl would sharpen anything he could find and mutter about things his brother Merle taught him. For that, Dale, dismissed any hurt Daryl caused him.

As Dale finished his fill of water and swished the cooling liquid around in his parched mouth, Lori came back in with Jared who was rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He frowned at Dale. "The one night the baby's wailing doesn't wake me up and _you_ decide that you need a change of bandages. What do you have against me?"

Dale was far too used to Jared's complaining by now to take his seriously, but he reminded himself that the man had just lost his brother right after Isaac had attempted to shoot him. If anyone had a right to complain besides Dale, it was certainly Jared.

As Jared went about resetting Dale's bandages, they heard a muffled thumping from the roof above. Rick was on watch on top of the RV, but he along with everyone else had been instructed to stomp if he spotted something moving in the darkness that posed threatening to them. Lori exchanged looks with Jared and stole out of the room to see what Rick's warning pertained to. Jared's hand subconsciously drifted to his belt where he kept a kitchen knife and Isaac's pistol. Dale put his own hand on Jared's arm to reassure him. They waited, hearing nothing but the sound of Jared doing up the last of Dale's wrappings and finishing them off with a knot.

Moments later Lori appeared and Daryl was beside her with his crossbow which spelt out the worst sort of bad news. Dale did not want to hear it, but he could not stop the words that came from Daryl's mouth. "They're comin' right at us, but we dunno if they're gonna walk 'round or try and get through, so we'll hide the best we can and take 'em out if it comes to that. Jared, you take Selene and the baby and lock y'selves in the bathroom until you hear someone callin' for you and then you come and help, but leave them in there. Jim, Rick, Shane, Andrea and me are gonna take up positions wherever we can. Everyone else is gonna be in the cars." He gave Dale a meaningful look. "Someone's gonna be on the roof and someone else will be right outside, Dale. Just holler if y'need us."

"Holler," Dale repeated with a croak and a raise of his eyebrows.

Daryl swore for his stupidity and then put his pistol on Dale's lap. "I meant shoot. But I hope y'don't need to use this, buddy."

"Thanks," said Dale hoarsely.

Jared squeezed past Lori and Daryl to gather up Selene and Ivanna. Lori gave Dale's hand a tight squeeze before she went off to find her hiding place with the others. Daryl patted Dale's leg, making an obvious note of the pistol and lowered his voice, though that was hardly necessary. "Nothin's gonna happen this time, Dale, I promise you that."

"Can you really promise that?" Speaking in a whisper did not hurt half so much as watching Daryl's face tense up.

"Fuck yes, I can promise that."

With that he left Dale alone in the back of the RV gripping the pistol in trembling and sweaty fingers. Now that Dale listened, he could hear the horrifying sound of the dead moaning in their aimless and never-ending march. They were coming closer—always closer, never leaving, always present in mind, body, and soul for everyone who had to live in the world the walkers now dominated. Dale shivered and dug around in his bedside drawer for the knife he had completely disregarded until now, hugging it to his chest above his wound.

"_Nothin's gonna happen this time…"_

_ Damn straight._

**I had a dream about Dale last night and when I woke up this morning, I took that as a subtle nudge to get a move on finishing the story up. No excuses, just life. Sorry for the long wait, can I ever be forgiven for my sin? My deepest apologies and I hope to finish up the story within the next few days—but note that "hope" is the operative word. Happy reading!**


	11. Chapter 11: A Cry Unheard

He could already hear them well before he saw them, but when he did see them, he nearly let his bladder go. From the position where he was sitting up in his bed, he could see the top of their heads and most of their faces, praying that none of them suddenly looked up to see a quite edible human sitting exposed on an old mattress. It made him break out in cold sweat to think that the only thing separating him from certain death was a thin layer of highly breakable glass. Jared was nearby, though, and someone was on the roof. As long as everyone kept quiet, the walkers would pass on by without ever knowing they were there. There was no reason why anyone should make any noise—except…

The baby. It was Ivanna who had woken him in the first place and he had already forgotten about her. If she cried, things could go from bad to shit in a heartbeat. It occurred to him that even though someone was on the roof and someone else was keeping watch nearby, neither of them was guarding the door. The _door_. The damn _door_! What if a walker wandered inside? Dale would have to shoot it before it got to him and that would alert all of the others. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He couldn't call to Jared for help, not now. Perhaps he could crawl to the driver's seat and pull the RV out of the danger zone and the others would get the hint and…

_You damn fool, Dale. If you could crawl to the driver's seat you could crawl to the door and make sure it's locked, but seeing as how you _can't_, you're shit out of luck. Besides, moving the RV would only alert the walkers and God knows you don't want that happening again. You got lucky twice; a third time will kill you._

It was just his brain overreacting to the situation as he leafed through all the possibilities what might, could, would, or would not happen. Forcing himself to remain calm, he took a shaky breath through his nose and wriggled down slightly so that he wouldn't have to see the walkers lumbering past the window. He counted backwards from one hundred , pacing the numbers out evenly to preoccupy himself, but one of the walkers bumped into the RV and he lost count at seventy-six.

_Breathe,_ he told himself. _Stay calm_.

He heard the door rattling in its frame.

_Well, screw that_.

The old hinges yielded and the door opened. Dale pulled back the hammer on his pistol, trying to steady his firing arm with his non-dominant, but it was like trying to pour a drink of water while riding a roller coaster. His eyes were glued to the hallway, anticipating the appearance of the mottled gray face with gaping jaws and long-dead eyes. The arms preceded the body as the walker stumbled about, knocking into the pantry cupboards with a mindless rhythm that was sure to call every other walker outside into the cramped RV. The misted irises settled on Dale and Dale felt the breath catch in his throat. The last time he had faced a walker he had been an old man with a gun, but he had been standing on his own two feet. Now he was an old man with a gun and bedridden.

_Shoot, Dale. Shoot now unless you're waiting on letting it come to you to stab it. Shoot_—damn it now_!_

The walker passed the bathroom, reaching for him with two missing fingers on its left hand and then the door opened, revealing Jared who had his knife in hand and plunged it down into the base of the walker's skull, catching the body and lowering it gently to the floor. He pulled out the knife and made a motion to Dale to be quiet as he slipped towards the front door and Dale heard him latch it. He came to Dale's bedside with a wet cloth and mopped down Dale's forehead with it.

"You okay?"

"Fine," muttered Dale, unable to tear his eyes away from the body on the floor. He wanted to tell Jared to stab it a few more times just to ensure that it really was dead, but Jared went back into the bathroom. Dale saw the last of the walkers moving on outside and set his head against his pillows in relief.

Then the baby started to cry. And not just cry—she was _screaming_.

Trying to crane his head far enough back to see if the walkers were aroused, Dale felt his bandages stretch and returned to his normal position just as he heard the door rattling with a human's insistency. "Dale, how the hell did you lock the door? You open this damn door right now!"

Jared pushed open the bathroom door and went to let Jim in who went to the doorway and said loudly over Ivanna's wailing, "Rick's gonna take you and the baby in the Pontiac down the road until she stops crying. You gotta go now 'cuz the walkers are gonna be on us any second. C'mon, let's go!"

Jared pulled Selene out by the arm and ushered her towards the door without looking back. Dale hated not being able to see what was happening around him, but he heard the rev of a car engine and guessed it to be Rick starting the Pontiac. He heard Shane and Daryl shouting, Carol screeching in terror, and the roar of the Pontiac's engine as Rick pressed the pedal to the floor and shot off down the road. Shane was issuing orders to Jared and Glenn; Daryl and Andrea were hollering at each other; someone was scrambling up the RV's ladder and in the midst of it all, someone had forgotten to lock the door _again_.

Making a mental note to personally attach the lock to whoever was responsible's hindquarters with a staple gun, Dale could only sit and watch as a second walker entered with a much quicker speed than the first one had and limp towards him. He raised his right arm despite his body protesting his movement and locked the walker's face in his sights. With little recoil, the pistol went off and put down the walker instantly. At this point he would have liked to call for help, but his vocal chords chose a very inconvenient time to stop working altogether so that he could hardly even rasp out a word. Two more walkers lumbered into the RV, drawn to the sound of Dale's pistol.

_No. Not me you fucking animals!_

Sweating profusely so that he was soaking his sheets, Dale let off two more rounds before he heard the pistol click empty and his heart froze over in ice. Daryl had not given him a fully loaded weapon. Damn _him_! He could think of little else to do but make noise and hope that the others heard him before the walkers did. In the process of banging on the window with his palm, he saw a fifth walker emerge on his doorstep and he switched the knife to his dominant hand in preparation for what was to come. He was beyond paralyzing terror and thought that he might just shit himself. The walker's mouth was as wide open as its lips allowed it to be and it seized Dale's arm, chomping on air as it fought to get its mouth in closer. The strength Dale found to fight it off came from nowhere, but he knew he would not be able to hold it off for long. He struggled and finally managed to free his knife hand, but at that instant two large hands grabbed the walker by the hair and yanking it backwards with a natural-born ferocity, jabbed a steak knife into its chin.

"Little fucker slipped right past me," said Jim as he ran his wrist under his nose. "We have to get out of here now. We're leaving the RV, come on." He didn't wait for Dale to respond but reached down and lifted Dale to his feet. Crying out as pain shot up and down his body, Dale leaned into Jim, sagging like dead weight. Jim ignored his objection to being moved in such a harsh manner and had borne him halfway to the door when another walker blocked their path and Jim dropped Dale to the floor as he swiped up a frying pan and struck the walker across the cheek with it. With every clang came a musical note and between each one Jim swore. "Go—to—hell—you—fucking—bastards!"

The body fell sideways onto Dale who exhaled sharply as the weight hit him and then another walker was there to grapple with Jim…and another…and—_oh, shit_.

Jim lost his footing as a walker grabbed his ankle and tripped him. He fell backwards into the window seat, but kicked out at the walkers and dropped the frying pan into Dale's lap, swinging at the walkers with a fire poker. As he brought his arm around for another blow a walker caught it and ripped deep into the flesh with its teeth. Jim buried the poker in the walker's face and then leapt into the fray, punching and kicking for all he was worth. Dale could see it happening from where Jim had dropped him. Jim disappeared under a wave of ravaging hands, screaming in such a pitch that made every hair on Dale's body go rigid. Dale felt the sweat, the blood, and the tears dripping from his face and screwed up his eyes to block out the sound.

_ Jim. No, Jim_. No. NO.

"NO! JIM!"

His throat bled with the effort to call out his friend's name who could not hear him and his world was that of red, black, blood, death. Always death.


	12. Chapter 12: Passing By, Passing On

**Sorry for the mix up. I accidentally uploaded the same chapter (11) twice under two different names. SOOOO…Chapter 11 is newly posted and fixed, please read that first and then proceed to Chapter 12. Again, sorry for the inconvenience!**

The last thing he should have done in such a situation as the one he was in was scream bloody murder for anyone within a ten mile radius to hear, but suddenly his voice began working again and he let it run for all he was worth. He tasted metallic blood running down his throat and felt his wound stretching as he fumbled with the knife he had in hand. He screamed for his wife, for Amy, for Jim, and for Andrea.

Then she was there. Behind her Shane was pressing the door shut against the tide of walkers just on the other side and Andrea pulled Dale to his feet, setting him on the bench as she took her crowbar and raised it for action. "Cover your eyes, Dale," she ordered. Dale put his arm up over his face and heard the sound of glass shattering into thousands of broken fragments. "Daryl, over here, quick!"

A car motor revved and Dale glanced over his shoulder to see the Jeep pulled up alongside the RV. Daryl ran around from the driver's seat and held out his arms. "Slide 'im out to me!"

Andrea put her arms under Dale's arms and heaved so that he was sitting atop the table. "You're going to have to help me, Dale. Scoot backwards and then lean back. Daryl will catch you."

Dale bit back his moan of pain as Andrea pushed him backward across the table and leaned until he felt Daryl's hands on the small of his back. From his vantage point he could still see Shane struggling to keep the door shut while Andrea took hold of Dale's legs and lowered them one by one. Daryl put his arms around Dale's waist and instructed him to fall back which Dale did with a muffled groan. Andrea hopped out after Dale and threw open the passenger door with the haste of someone down to the last seconds of dismantling a bomb which wasn't too far off from reality. Even though Dale could not properly see them, he could hear the dead bearing down on them from every direction.

"Damn it, where the hell's that Wagon?" asked Daryl.

In response to his question the Ram Wagon came to a screeching halt on the driver's side of the Jeep and in the front Lori honked the horn as Jacqui, Carol, Glen, and Sophia yelled at them. Jared rolled down the window with a rifle at the ready to cover their escape. "Get that ass moving, Shane!" he hollered into the RV.

Dale held on to the support bar overhead as Andrea tucked his legs into the Jeep and watched Shane scramble for the window frame with the walkers hard on his heels. One grabbed his ankle as he squatted to roll out and he struck his chin on the frame, tumbling face first into the grass where he lay quite still. Daryl swore, snatched up his crossbow from the driver's seat and rushed to help with the order of, "Andrea, get 'im outta here now!"

Dale opened the glove compartment where he knew Rick insisted on keeping a pistol and he checked it for rounds. Jared let off a round from the rifle—with a jolt Dale realized that it was _his_ rifle—and the walker crawling over the RV's table came to a stop with a bullet in its left nostril. Where Shane had fallen, Daryl was hauling the former officer backwards with a one-handed grip on his collar. "Jared, y'come outta that Wagon and help me!"

Jared flew out of the Wagon, ramming the butt end of Dale's rifle into a walker's jaw and cutting between another two. He took Shane's arm and together he and Daryl threw him unceremoniously into the back seat of the Jeep. Daryl climbed up to be the rear gunner for their escape and Jared was just turning to run back around the Jeep to the Wagon when a walker bowled into him and he struck his face on the car door. A dazed expression slid over his face and he slipped out of sight. Dale cocked his pistol and opened the door with a great jerk so that the walker bending over to feast on Jared was knocked over. He dropped the pistol into his lap, let out a wrenching pain and took a firm hold of Jared's jacket, throwing himself into a backward position to pull Jared up. Daryl stuck his arm out the side and with a hard yank, he was able to set most of Jared's upper body in the vehicle.

"Go, Andrea, go, go! Dale, hold onto Jared and hold onto the 'oh, shit' handle!"

Dale was already losing feeling in the hand that was keeping Jared off of the ground while his other one grasped the overhead handle in desperation as Andrea floored it and the Jeep shot forward.

"Don't leggo've him!" Daryl reminded and if Dale had any part of his voice left to spare, he would have told him to shut up. Wounded, old, and weak, Dale was not going to let one more person give themselves up for his sake, not when he had an ounce of strength left to spare. A gentle night breeze swept through the sweaty hair plastered to Dale's head as Andrea sped along the road going unnecessarily fast behind the Wagon. Jared opened one eye blearily and Dale saw a dark and puffy bruise forming underneath it at the same time that Shane gave a moan from the back seat where Daryl was standing up.

"Did…did it…get—me?" asked Jared.

"No, you're fine," Dale said raspily. Daryl slung his crossbow over his arm and pulled on Jared's arm until the latter's legs were the only part of his body not within the safety of the vehicle. With much difficulty Dale was able to pry his fingers off of the handlebar and he let his arm fall to his side with a flump, slumping down in his seat. Turning his neck slightly to the side, he detected moisture on Andrea's face and thought that it was sweat, but then the moonlight caught on a glimmering drop at the corner of her inner eye and he interpreted what he saw differently. He raised his aching arm and rested his hand on her knuckles at the wheel.

"I didn't know Jim had gone back for you," she said with a tremble in her voice. "I only saw it when you were calling for help and I knew…"

"Don't…" said Dale. "Just drive."

"We have to go back," Andrea insisted. "We left most of our supplies."

"We will, but not now, not with all those walkers in the area, are you crazy?" said Daryl, dropping in on the conversation." Dale gave him a look that scolded him for his tactlessness and taking the hint, Daryl put his hand on Andrea's shoulder. "'M'sorry. I really am."

Andrea took the hand not occupied by Dale and reached over to grasp Daryl's, biting her lip. The last image of Jim replayed across Dale's eyes and he snapped them shut, forcing himself to remain in the present with Andrea beside him and the gentle humming of the engine bringing his racing heart to a calm ease. It did not do to linger on what had happen; he had told Andrea this numerous times. Time did not stand still for them, nor did it rewind to allow them to undo a mistake. Time just _happened_ and it would go forward with or without them. If they truly wished to keep up with it, they had to stop living out an existence that belonged in the past. Those who were dead would not be coming back no matter how much those who lingered grieved. Wounds would become scars and memories; memories would not fade.

The clock had stopped ticking but time did not come to a standstill. It was simply _with _them as long as they chose to accompany it. For now, time was one thing they were certain that they did have.

For now…

**Pfttt…wow, this certainly took longer than I had anticipated, but I'm glad that I chose to write it nonetheless. For those of us who love Dale, the third season of The Walking Dead will not be met with as much enthusiasm. As I did with my other Dale fic, I recommend taking a close look at the lyrics of the Nickelback song "Lullaby" and listening to it. If that song does not describe Dale and Andrea's relationship to a "t", then I don't know what does. Here's looking at you, Dale. Thanks for reading!**


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